


Essence of Life

by The Manwell (Manniness)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Eerie, Lemon, M/M, Obsession, POV Heero Yuy, Post EW, Quatre Raberba's Uchuu no Kokoro | Space Heart, Spoilers, Supernatural Elements, Yaoi, potential psychosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 00:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14068578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/The%20Manwell
Summary: No one has seen or heard from Duo Maxwell in the three years since Dekim Barton's attempted coup d'état... but there's one former Gundam pilot who refuses to give up the search for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. With The Manwell's permission, I began manually importing some of her works to the AO3 as part of an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017.
> 
> Warnings: NC-17 -- Language, angst, obsession, potential psychosis, yaoi, graphic sexual content, POV, and other stuff that would ruin the story if I mentioned it... but I can promise no torture and no NCS.
> 
> Spoilers: Of course! Mostly from episode #3 but there are brief mentions from other parts of the series and Endless Waltz.
> 
> Author notes: This story blossomed from two sources: First, I really badly wanted to read/write a dark and semi-twisted, erotic and sensual Heero and Duo obsession story. Second, The Vault's Spring Songfic Contest combined with Jade Redd's tune "The Tower" gave me the extra push I needed to take the obsession idea seriously.

::It took me a long time to picture him. He had to be flawless. He had to be _real_. Sound like an oxymoron? Perhaps it was. At the time, I hadn't really cared. I built his form methodically, relentlessly. His image had to be perfect, and memories rarely are. He had to exist on the distant fringes of my imagination. He had to push against the boundaries of all I knew and accepted in the world to which I have grown accustomed. He had to be greater than I. He had to be a god. Perhaps it was reckless of me, but I invoked him nonetheless...::  
  
  
<initiate>  
  
  
The young man whose image I study on the vid screen sighs heavily. "Why do you continue to do this to yourself, Heero?"  
  
My left brow drifts upward at the sudden and quite personal question. It's not that his words have surprised me. No, I'm curious as to what has made him ask that particular question so quickly this time. I decide to play The Innocent even though I've never been very good at it. It does have the lovely side-effect of pissing him off, after all. Hey, these days my amusements are few and far between. "Do what, Quatre?"  
  
The current leader of the L4 colony cluster lifts his all-seeing gaze to my purposefully opaque expression. "It's been three years," he reminds me. Unnecessarily, I might add.  
  
I reply smartly in a factual tone, "I'm not surprised; they say the Earth was formed roughly five hundred million years ago. To my knowledge time has not stopped since then."  
  
Quatre shakes his head only looking more saddened by my response. "It's too bad he's not listening to you right now. He would have appreciated your... _unique_ sense of humor far better than I."  
  
The right corner of my mouth tightens as I whittle down the words necessary for my rebuttal but Quatre speaks over my forming thoughts.  
  
"Duo is gone, Heero."  
  
I blink in silent resignation. "We've had this discussion before," I tell him flatly. "And I'd like to point out that it's becoming predictable."  
  
"As are you," Quatre _\--_ my good friend _\--_ challenges me. "Predictable but not practical."  
  
"The war is over," I counter. "I don't have to be practical anymore."  
  
Quatre sighs explosively. I start counting down to our inevitable, ill-tempered disconnection. "But do you have to be an ass?"  
  
I almost laugh. He must be more tired than usual to start calling me not-nice names this soon into our debate. "Is that a rhetorical question?"  
  
Those light blue eyes narrow at me, glaring fiercely. "Three years, Heero. No word, no sign, no indication of Duo since he destroyed Deathscythe Hell. He's gone! Move on with your life!"  
  
Oh, I see. He's decided to get serious. Well, he's a bit ahead of schedule, but that's all right. I _do_ have the capacity to be accommodating, believe it or not. I reply with equal ruthlessness, "Is that what your so-famous heart is telling you?"  
  
His gasp is perfectly silent, but I gather evidence of its existence from his slightly parted lips and the sudden expansion of his chest. I've never asked him this before despite the fact that I've often wondered it. But then, until now, Quatre has never given me a direct order regarding my unwavering interest in Duo Maxwell's mysterious whereabouts.  
  
Quatre glances away but not before I see the defeat in his eyes. "Why did you have to ask me that?" His voice is soft. The ache therein is real. He does not expect me to answer. I don't disappoint him. I wait. He's too good a friend to out-right lie to me. But he's hurting too much to weave a convincing half-truth. It's very likely a cruel thing to do _\--_ or not do _\--_ but I don't want to distract him from that soul-baring anguish. I need this.  
  
He tells me, finally, "My heart..." Quatre swallows and, with great reluctance, meets my ever-patient gaze. "My heart has never revealed anything to me about Duo."  
  
I feel myself frown. The expression is heavy on my face. It gives too much of my confusion away. I don't care.  
  
"Are you telling me that you've never sensed Duo's emotions? Never? In all the time you'd spent with him?" I almost wince at the bitterness in my voice. Christ, who would have guessed I'd been envious of Quatre's easy camaraderie with Duo Maxwell during the war? I obviously need to end this conversation before I do something really stupid. Luckily, Quatre seems too agitated to notice.  
  
"I never felt a single thing from Duo," he replies very clearly. And just in case I'm having trouble with that, he rephrases, "I have never been able to get an empathic reading on him." He shrugs. "He's a ghost."  
  
I almost smirk. "So _that's_ why you found him so... fascinating."  
  
Quatre nods once before catching himself. He looks at me with enlightened eyes and I silently curse myself. Three years ago, Quatre might have gently joshed me at this juncture. He would have been highly entertained to see me fidget over this hint of jealousy. But now, he only seems even more depressed. I hadn't thought it possible. But I'm looking at the evidence with my own eyes.  
  
"Oh, Heero... I never meant... I'm so sorry I..."  
  
I take a deep breath and roll my eyes. "Just hang up now and save us both the waterworks, Winner."  
  
He has the nerve to give me a mirror image my own dark glower. He asks me with a confrontational tilt to his head, "Will you finally drop this pointless endeavor, then?"  
  
I laugh. I actually laugh. Quatre winces at the sound.  
  
He sighs, defeated. "I suppose that answers _that_."  
  
I smirk. His guilt-trips aren't nearly as effective as they used to be. I bluntly assure him, "Your weekly duty to attempt to persuade me to be reasonable has been discharged. But I am still a contrary, stubborn, tenacious bastard and I am not giving up."  
  
Quatre lifts his gaze heavenward in a silent plea for divine guidance.  
  
The display irritates me. "For fuck's sake," I bark. "It's only been three years."  
  
He blinks at me, startled. Bemused, he shakes his head and informs me, "I never knew you were such an eternal optimist."  
  
There are a lot of things he doesn't know about me and his silence tells me he's just thought the exact same thing. For a moment we just stare at each other. But then he breaks the silence with one of the brusque farewells he's recently started to use with me.  
  
"Just don't do anything stupid."  
  
He doesn't wait for my reply before he disconnects. That's just as well. Deflecting the orders he issues for my own "well-being" take a lot of effort... and I don't particularly give a rat's ass at the moment.  
  
I turn away from the dark screen and flop back on the bed. I take a deep, cleansing breath and smile up at the stained ceiling. I wonder if Quatre has ever bothered to take his own advice, for surely wasting an hour every week in a completely pointless attempt to get me to give up my search for Duo Maxwell is not only a damn waste of time, but pretty fucking stupid as well.  
  
  
<reset>  
  
  
Where does one begin the process of tracking a ghost? How long does one scour miles of code before giving up on electronic data sources? How many dead-ends does it take before one must admit that conventional means of investigation just don't apply to Duo Maxwell?  
  
I suppose, the answers to those questions depend on the level of one's... _commitment_ , let's say. And while I've been accused of many things, a lack of commitment to my objectives is not among them. Thus, the more elusive my quarry, the more dogged my pursuit.  
  
I know this.  
  
Quatre knows this.  
  
And if Duo doesn't, he damn well _ought_ to.  
  
I slowly roll my eyes, taking in the rundown, funky efficiency apartment that had been Duo's last known place of residence during December, A.C. 196. No one has lived here since. Well... no one except me, that is.  
  
Sometimes _\--_ if I close my eyes and assemble the memory one tingling heartbeat at a time _\--_ I can still capture his scent here, lingering... as I am lingering... with the darkness he'd awakened inside me.  
  
I could almost hate him for that. He'd exploded into my awareness and when the dust had settled, I'd found myself tied up in his essence. He'd done this to me. And then he'd left. Had he even felt the slow, inexorable impact of our worlds colliding and then fusing?  
  
I drag in another deep breath. I know I can't start thinking about this. I know it will lead me nowhere. And I refuse to waste my resources on so futile an exercise.  
  
Not for the first time, I try to force myself to verbally damn him to hell.  
  
But, as in all my pervious attempts, I am unsuccessful.  
  
How had this happened? How had I come to be living in Duo's old ramshackle apartment above a soup kitchen and across the alley from a forgotten and moldering junkyard? How had I come to lie here staring up at the sagging ceiling wishing I had enough animosity in me to curse him? How had I allowed myself to be drawn into this place of such dark, consuming need? How had I found and unknowingly crossed that threshold which forbids my exit but had allowed only my single, fumbling entry?  
  
It hadn't happened all at once. It rarely does. There had been no pivotal moment. I had never stopped and thought to myself, //"This is it; there's no turning back."// It had crept softly over me like a sunlight-warmed shadow. I hadn't even recognized it until I'd looked in the mirror one day and seen the lingering darkness clinging to me. It had been in the dark circles beneath my eyes, in the days-old stubble along my jaw, in the dark and tousled mess of tangled hair. It had been then as I regarded my rumpled clothing and pale desperation that I'd realized what had happened.  
  
But I hadn't cared.  
  
I still don't.  
  
It's the middle of the afternoon, but I don't care about that either. I'm tired from the eternally unchanging argument with Quatre. I'm tired and there is only one thing that can bring me peace.  
  
I close my eyes and begin.  
  
I imagine Duo Maxwell: he of the violet eyes and strong, callused hands; he of the neatly plaited chestnut hair and haphazard bangs. I remember exactly how long it takes him to reload a Desert Eagle in the dark. I recall exactly the twist of his neck as he pulls a pin out of a grenade with his teeth. He is a merciless killer, an assassin, a freedom fighter. He is a young man, an individual, a human being. I have watched him cut down his enemies with his bare hands. I have witnessed his wry smile and sparkling eyes. I have battled wits with him. I have battled with him _\--_ both alongside and against. He has offered me compassion and he has denied me my self-pity. During those days that I had measured in alternating bouts of adrenaline and boredom, he had been my friend... He had been my nemesis.  
  
He still is.  
  
And I want him.  
  
He is the other half of my broken and blackened, soot-stained and rotting soul.  
  
How can I follow Quatre's advice and move on when there is not enough of me that can be scraped together and forced into motion?  
  
I smile.  
  
This is my life. This is my task. This is everything that is worth anything to me.  
  
I mouth his name in silence and allow the aching of my soul to reverberate through me. I transmit my need of him out into the void. I pour my longing into the image of him I have created from the darkness within.  
  
And then I wait.  
  
He will hear me.  
  
He will come.  
  
Duo...  
  
  
<reset>  
  
  
He had touched me once. I remember it clearly, vividly, reverently. I had been surprised by the strength of his grasp and the thickness of his calluses. He had seemed so vibrant. The sparkle in his eyes had sung to me an aria of life. But his hands had whispered to me of the inevitability of death. That single touch had sealed me in my windowless and inescapable tower. I have fought, killed, hated, and avenged... and still I remain his prisoner, locked in that one moment when his skin had roughly brushed mine.  
  
Here, on his old bed, lying amongst the threadbare linens that he had once surrendered to his dreams upon, I call that moment back. The day had been beautiful, the sky cloudless. The bay had sparkled in the sunlight. The sand from the beach had crept into my shoes and clothes during my tumble. I had stood up. I had ignored my broken leg as I cursed myself for even opening the parachute. I should have died. I couldn't quite figure out why I hadn't. But then he'd spoken and my self-depreciating thoughts had been cast aside.  
  
//"I understand you wanting to kill yourself... but if you can't do it from that height, then think of another way."//  
  
And then he'd approached me with a determined stride and an almost friendly smile in his eyes. He should have been terrified of me. He should have been wary of approaching the wounded animal that I had been in that moment.  
  
He hadn't. He'd simply taken my right arm in his grasp and I'd had to close my eyes as he'd placed my bare arm over his shoulder. He was warm where he was pressed against my side. I could almost feel the color of his shirt against my inner arm. And his fingertips _\--_ rough skin delivering a gentle touch _\--_ measured my pulse from where they pressed softly against my wrist.  
  
In my lifetime, I have been beaten, tortured, interrogated, restrained, and brutalized, but I could not have pulled away from his grasp for anything. I had been painfully aware of the nearness of his eyes, the softness of his long hair sliding over my arm, his scent...  
  
I don't remember precisely what he'd said to me then. I'd heard the word "trust" and I'd heard the word "friend." With my eyes closed, the timbre of his voice, the warmth of his body, the textures of his skin and hair and clothing had all been amplified. Overwhelming...  
  
I let the memory take me, fill me, infuse me until I find myself there on the beach with him again. His fingertips pressing so insistently against my wrist. His braid caught in the crook of my arm. His black, cotton shirt scraping the skin of my inner arm raw with its softness.  
  
God... I almost moan as the sensations return to me and every nerve in my right arm burns. It's like I'm really there again. It's like he's really under my arm, like I'm really draped over his shoulders.  
  
Duo...  
  
The rough fingertips move gently against my wrist, massaging small circles and I gasp in silence.  
  
Duo...  
  
Those callused digits follow the faint, bluish shadow of the vein, dancing across skin that has become tender with years of inactivity. I shiver.  
  
Duo...  
  
Slowly, so exquisitely slowly, that touch travels upward and lingers just inside my elbow. I can feel my own accelerated heart rate. The heat is incredible and I ride it. I can feel his fingers delve relentlessly beneath the rolled-up edge of my sleeve. I forget everything except the heat of those powerfully gentle hands.  
  
"Duo..."  
  
"I'm here, Heero."  
  
My eyes snap open as that familiar voice whispers to me. I blink in the darkness of the one-room apartment, my heart pounding.  
  
"Duo?" I call to the shadows.  
  
There is no answer.  
  
Confused and frustrated, I glance toward the window and take note of the fact that night had fallen as I'd been lying here imagining... pretending...  
  
I glance at my right hand as my fingers curl into a tight fist. God, it had seemed so real...  
  
And that's when I notice the right sleeve of my faded, blue jean shirt. The cuff is no longer carefully and precisely rolled to just below my elbow. It had been unfolded and pushed upward to where it now bunches around my bicep. Hesitantly, I lift my arm to my face and inhale carefully, tracing the same path as those ghostly fingertips.  
  
My pulse beats faster _\--_ hotter _\--_ in my veins and I wonder if I've finally lost my mind. How else can I explain the fact that I can smell the lingering essence of Duo's skin on my own flesh?  
  
I blink once again at the room around me and I hear myself whisper, "Duo?"  
  
Again, there is no answer.  
  
After a moment, I lower my nose to hover just above the skin of my wrist and suck his rapidly dissipating scent into my lungs. I tremble with the pleasure of it and smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting Notes: ::narration:: //memories & thoughts//

::I brewed and drank two full pots of coffee from the small travel-sized coffee maker that gurgled dangerously on the abandoned card table before I decided that Duo's presence and his touch had not been a hallucination. If I looked at each bit of evidence independently, I could convince myself that it had all been a vivid dream generated by my subconscious yearning to see him again. But taken together...::  
  
::Duo Maxwell had been here. Right here. And he had touched me. Spoken to me.::  
  
::I wanted to believe it. So I did.::  
  
  
<resume>  
  
  
"Yuy. You look like shit."  
  
Today must be Monday. Wufei always calls me on Mondays. Probably because Quatre calls me on Saturdays and spends the following day ranting at Chang about my ever-accelerating descent into the realm of the unreasonable.  
  
I resist the urge to rub my face briskly. Any attempt I wish to make at restoring the circulation to my cheeks has to wait until I've managed to piss Wufei off enough to get him to hang up on me. It should only take about five minutes. I wonder if I can beat my time from last week.  
  
Hm.  
  
Mission accepted.  
  
"I see you've made the hostage negotiations team at HQ," I drawl. "Your sparkling wit and flawless decorum are wasted on weapons smugglers."  
  
He blinks at me. His expression is nonplussed. "When was the last time you slept?"  
  
I swallow back a laugh and my automatic reply: I haven't slept a whole night through since Duo had vanished. But he doesn't need to know that.  
  
"When was the last time you minded your own business?" I snark.  
  
He snorts. "Once upon a time, I was allowed that luxury."  
  
"Well then let me give that sweet time right back to you. Consider it a belated Christmas present."  
  
"I don't celebrate over-commercialized holidays, Yuy."  
  
"And I don't tolerate pushy assholes trying to dictate my life."  
  
Wufei slams his fist down on the surface of the desk, rattling his vid phone. "Damn it to hell!" he swears. I'm somewhat fascinated by the stray wisp of hair that's tumbled loose of his ponytail and the slight flush across his cheekbones. "Between you and Winner I am _this close_ to throttling someone! The only thing that saves either of you is that I can't decide who should have the honor of being first!"  
  
I'm a little impressed by this small rant. I hear myself say, "Preventer agents know all the best places to hide dismembered bodies."  
  
He makes a brief, disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "You humor leaves much to be desired," he informs me.  
  
"Duo never had a problem with it."  
  
"That's because he never heard it!" Wufei forces himself to take a calming breath. "You need help, Yuy. Let him go."  
  
I narrow my eyes at him, channeling my hostility. I go with the first thing that comes to mind. I start to sing, "This is the song that never ends..."  
  
"Yuy..."  
  
"Yes, it goes on and on my friends..."  
  
"Yuy!"  
  
"Some people started singing it not knowing what it was _\--_ "  
  
"Heero!!"  
  
" _\--_ and they'll just keep on singing it forever just because..."  
  
The inarticulate growl is the only warning I have before the vid screen goes blank. I halt my rendition of the hideous tune and smirk.  
  
Mission completed.  
  
  
<reset>  
  
  
Quatre had once told me in a moment of startled honesty that he'd always thought of me as a "glass half empty" kind of guy.  
  
"Why do you say that?" I'd asked. At the time, I'd considered myself just as optimistic as any one else.  
  
He'd glanced away to survey what little he could see of the room behind me through the vid connection. "You know as well as I do that the chances of Duo coming back to his old apartment are _\--_ "  
  
"Pretty damn good," I'd finished for him. I hadn't wanted to hear it. I'd just given up on tracking him electronically. I'd visited every location on Earth and the colonies where I'd known he'd been. That is, I'd gone back to every place _\--_ every ghost of a moment _\--_ I'd shared with him. I'd stood on the docks where he'd shot me. I'd slunk through abandoned halls to a once-detention cell where I'd nearly shot him back. And I'd visited all the moments before, in between, and afterward.  
  
Not one of those places had looked as I'd remembered them. Not one of those places had delivered Duo to me. Only silence. This apartment had been my last chance. I'd sworn not to let it go.  
  
Quatre hadn't understood that. He still doesn't. He just doesn't realize that I _can't_ leave. That if I were to walk away now, there would be nothing left for me. Nothing at all.  
  
I'm scared.  
  
God, I'm scared and I wish to hell Duo were here so I could have something strong and real and damn-near indestructible to hold on to.  
  
I stare at the soft skin of my inner forearm. I remember that touch. I remember the sound of his voice. It's all so clear. Terrifyingly clear. And even though I've spent the last thirty-six hours trying to come to a conclusion about that touch, when it all boils down, all I've got left is a need to hear his voice again, feel his skin again, become lost in the smell of him again.  
  
I need this.  
  
I need to lose my mind to him.  
  
I shiver at how calm I feel in my contemplation.  
  
Insanity. It's something I never thought I'd court. But if it brings Duo to me, then there's not much choice for me, is there?  
  
  
<reset>  
  
  
I watch the sunset on yet another day without him. Somehow, the approaching darkness always allows me to feel his presence easier and I revel in it. All day I had been wondering if he is, in fact, a ghost, but something in me warns against hastily labeling what I have experienced.  
  
A touch. I had experienced his touch, nothing more, nothing less.  
  
But I want more. I want so very, very much more.  
  
And I'm finally ready to do whatever it takes to have it.  
  
I think _\--_ fleetingly _\--_ of what Quatre would say if he had the power to know my thoughts and intentions. Part of me is disappointed that I won't be able to shock and annoy him with the levels of my _impracticality_. But mostly, I feel the way I feel about everything else that touches my life but has nothing to do with Duo: I don't fucking care.  
  
I had spent all afternoon planning this: what I would wear, where it would happen, how I should begin...  
  
I start with a shower. I don't want Duo to see me with greasy, tangled hair and a five-day-old beard, now do I?  
  
I don't remember the last time I performed this grooming ritual in its entirety and I feel myself getting impatient with the amount of time it takes. I shower. I shave. I towel my hair dry because I don't own a blow-drier... and if I did, I doubt I'd waste another ten minutes standing in front of this corroded mirror styling my hair.  
  
I don't bother pulling on any underwear or jeans. I don't own the former and I have none clean of the latter. I throw on a black, button-down shirt. This one reminds me of the garments Duo used to wear during the war. It has a high collar like the old priest's shirt, but no notch through which to show the white mock turtleneck he used to wear. I carefully roll up the sleeves. I secure every button down the front. I smooth out the sheets on the bed. I lie down and draw in a deep breath.  
  
I had decided after my third mini-pot of burnt and bitter coffee that I will attempt to recreate my experiment. I will build his essence once again. I will call him to me as I had the night before. And when he comes to me, I will not let him startle me. I will not break my concentration. I will not let him go until I have had him.  
  
I close my eyes.  
  
I begin.  
  
Once again, I am on the beach. My leg is throbbing where the broken edges of bone grate against each other but I do not reach for it. I feel the wind against my abraded skin. Tiny grains of sand cling to my elbows and knees. The sun is almost painfully bright and I could grow to both love and hate the incessant twinkle of its reflection off of the bay.  
  
I hear the sound of his voice as he advises me to find alternate methods of killing myself since jumping from the fiftieth story of a high-security military facility doesn't seem to do the job. I listen at the soft sounds of his steps as he approaches. I think I can hear every grain of sand that brushes against his black boots.  
  
And then I see his smile. That barely-there, tentative smile as he reaches for my right arm. His lips form the word "trust." His breath delivers the word "friend." I barely hear him. I am draped carefully over his strong shoulders. I am shivering at the feel of his sun-kissed hair against my inner arm. I am both dying and being reborn with every brush of his fingertips over my wrist.  
  
Duo...  
  
I do not twitch _\--_ I do not even open my eyes when I feel a second set of fingertips ghosting over my left wrist.  
  
Duo...  
  
Those phantom touches travel up to my elbows where they dance across my skin at the borderline of my rolled-up cuffs.  
  
Duo...  
  
"You're really here," I whisper, awed and trembling.  
  
"I'm really here," he confirms and the sound of his voice draws forth a shuddering gasp from me. He does not ask me what I want or why I have called him. My intentions are clear in the absence of the majority of my clothing. But just in case he has any doubts, I very slowly and very deliberately pull my legs apart.  
  
Do I imagine his gasp of surprise?  
  
I shiver as he leans closer, his lips barely tickling the edge of my ear. "Heero..." he breathes and I hear the reverence in his voice. He wants this. He wants me. If his voice had not told me so, the heat of his lips would have. I moan as they drift up along my jaw. I tilt my head back. I need this. I need whatever he will give me.  
  
"More," I beg quietly. My blood seems incapable of following a simple route through my veins and arteries. It buzzes and churns through my body, both speeding my breathing and slowing the flow of time around us.  
  
His fingertips abandon the delicate flesh of my inner arms and trace twin, tiny circles across the backs of my knees. His thumbs smooth over the tops of my thighs. He applies no pressure, but I bend my knees, opening myself completely to him. I had been serious when I'd told him I wanted more.  
  
His hands glide slowly _\--_ so slowly, agonizingly slowly _\--_ toward the inside of my thighs. His palms are hot and rough as they travel up... up...  
  
I'm panting hotly with the anticipation.  
  
"Duo..."  
  
"Any special requests?" he purrs.  
  
"I..." My breath hitches as he carefully brushes his thumbs along the crease where my thighs become groin.  
  
"You...?"  
  
"Ah... hah... I..." Those delicious hands slip under my thighs, urging my legs up and even further apart. "I'm-wearing-too-many-clothes," I gasp out in a barely intelligible rush.  
  
His fingertips brush against the curve of my ass. "Surprisingly," he replies slowly, "I agree with you."  
  
Those incredible hands retrace their previous path before removing their touch entirely. Without such all-consuming distraction, I am suddenly aware of the gentle texture of the cotton shirt against my half-hard cock. I moan. And then I moan again as I feel the slight breeze from his hands against my hot skin. Somehow, he manages to slip the lowest button free without grazing my flesh. I want to complain but he's just so fucking _good_. I manage a breathy cry instead.  
  
It takes a tiny eternity for him to release each of the small, black buttons holding the fabric over my quivering abdomen and aching sternum.  
  
"Leave... leave the top one," I request, loving the way the cotton slides teasingly over my nipples.  
  
"As you wish."  
  
Oh, I _love_ the way he breathes that promise to me.  
  
"You like that, huh? The sound of my voice in your ear, the weight of my... promise?"  
  
I shiver. I nod. "...Yes..." I shift further down the bed, my hips seeking a different kind of weight altogether.  
  
He leans over me and for a moment I'm transfixed by the slide of bare skin against my inner thighs. It takes me several seconds of marveling at the strength of the body pressing against me before I realize I'm feeling Duo's slender hips settling between my legs. My entire body liquefies in a hot, instantaneous rush. I somehow manage to arc toward him, yelling wordlessly at the slow rock of his pelvis that brings his cock into contact with mine.  
  
Oh, fuck.  
  
Oh, yes.  
  
"Duo!"  
  
"Mmm..." he replies before delivering a tiny lick to the underside of my jaw. I can't describe the sound I make as his sharp teeth scrape briefly in a shy nip.  
  
This is it. Something inside me snaps and I hear myself direct, "Kiss me and then fuck me. _Now_."  
  
His lips brush against mine as he hums his compliance. The vibration is subtle and maddening. I offer my mouth to him, welcoming his touch. _Needing_ it more than I need his cock. He caresses my lips until they are pliant and thrumming. He gently nibbles first the upper then its counterpart. So gently, he draws my lower lip out and down until I'm pouting for him.  
  
Duo...  
  
The tip of his tongue, so warm and teasing, glides along the sensitive inner lining of my lips. My mouth trembles open on a needy sound but he takes his time. So much time. _Ages_ of time. He teasingly licks the corners of my mouth, bathing in every humid pant of breath. Fuck, it's like he has all the time in the world. It's like he could play with me for a decade without stopping. The thought winds me even tighter.  
  
"What did you think just now?" he whispers, no doubt feeling the increased firmness of my cock against him.  
  
"Hmm... you," I tell him.  
  
"Me... what?" he insists affectionately.  
  
"You... toying with me, teasing me, taking me," I rasp.  
  
"Is that all you want?" he asks in a slightly teasing tone.  
  
I smile at the soft laughter in his voice. "You are _all_ I've ever wanted."  
  
And then he's filling my mouth, hot and thick and wet.  
  
Duo...  
  
The taste of him... My mind shatters as it attempts to catalog his flavor. I can only roll his tongue with my own, suck it between my lips, memorize his unique blend of ingredients. I move beneath him, coaxing his mouth to move into mine over and over again. This is what I want. This is what I want him to do with me. This is why I called him here. This is why I can't let go of him.  
  
Another millennia passes before he releases me. My mouth is almost numb from the flood of sensation it has received. Dazed, I can only mouth his name over and over again as he draws the patch of skin beneath my Adam's apple between his lips and sucks hard. I'm mindless in my need. I rub against him wantonly.  
  
"Fuck me already, damn it!" I demand.  
  
His mouth releases the patch of now-raw skin on my throat. He moves over me _\--_ down me _\--_ like a waterfall. I think I feel one of his hard nipples against the length of my cock as he slides over my body. I toss my head back, my hands fisting in the sheets. He captures my erection between the palm of his hand and his hard chest. His breath pools in my navel as he rocks slowly over me.  
  
"You're not ready for me, Heero."  
  
I frown, trying to make sense of his words. I'm all but screaming for him at this point and he thinks I'm not _ready?_ With one of his shoulders beneath my thigh and one hand pushing my other leg open, I'm too lost to verbally object. And then he grabs the right half of my ass and squeezes deliberately. The pad of this thumb settles against my entrance and I shout his name as the movements of his body rock me against it. The pressure is so sweet...  
  
"I don't care," I mutter. "Want you..."  
  
He doesn't respond right away. Maddeningly, he pulls back. I sense him crouching between my splayed thighs, memorizing me.  
  
"Duo..."  
  
"If you want me," he replies, carefully articulating every word, "then watch me."  
  
Oh fuck, he has _no_ idea how much I want to. But... "Can I?" I ask, hesitating.  
  
"If you want me," he insists.  
  
And I do _\--_ more than anything _\--_ so I open my eyes. The room overflows with shadows. I can barely discern the slightly paler form kneeling over me.  
  
"There," Duo purrs. "Beautiful." I shiver, my eyes nearly rolling back into my head as he easily arranges my legs to accommodate his hips. I can feel him, slick and hot, drawing small, massaging circles against my entrance with the head of his cock. I encourage him with a groan and lean into his hands.  
  
He opens me gently, methodically, coaxing and teasing. He continues those tiny circles, sliding deeper into me with every rotation. And just when I've felt the head slip completely inside me, he withdraws and begins again. How long this continues I don't know. He drills carefully into me and withdraws perhaps half a dozen times... maybe more. I'm losing my mind, panting, begging, reaching for him.  
  
"You're not watching me, Heero."  
  
I lick my lips and force myself to look _\--_ _really_ look _\--_ at him. And what I see...  
  
Oh, fuck.  
  
Oh, fuck, he's just how I remember plus three years that had to have been pure hell to have gotten him in such good physical condition. Once I'd been stronger than him, but now I highly doubt that's the case. His dark eyes regard me with a mixture of humor and affection. Those eyes... that tiny smile... Holy shit, I'm on the edge right now just from looking...  
  
"Watch," he whispers and I force my gaze downward just in time to see the muscles in his abdomen contract as he surges so steadily forward. Into me. _Completely_ into me.  
  
I scream.  
  
I come.  
  
I hear my own voice claiming him: " _Mine!_ "  
  
"Yours," he echoes, still hard and hot and deep inside me.  
  
I claw at consciousness, not ready to relinquish the exquisite perfection of him. " _More_ ," I demand, voice hoarse. I want to feel the burn and slide. I want to be rocked in the wake of his strength. I want to ride his desire. I want to have him and have him and have him until I'm raw from the friction and my voice is gone.  
  
His voice comes to me as if from a great distance yet it echoes in my ears, intimate and warm, "As you wish."  
  
And then he begins to move. I cling to him until I pass out beneath him. Perhaps I cling to him thereafter. I don't remember.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting Notes: ::narration:: //memories & thoughts//

::I woke up to an empty bed of tangled sheets. The black shirt I had worn for him the night before had not disappeared... in fact, every single button was done up. The cuffs were exactly as I had arranged them. Increasingly anxious, I sniffed the air but detected neither the scent of sex nor of him. I almost cried. I spent most of the day curled up in his bed trying not to admit to the ever-strengthening suspicion that I was indeed losing my mind. It wouldn't have been so bad if not for these intermittent moments of pure, vivid sanity. The dream would have been perfect if I'd never had to wake up.::  
  
  
<resume>  
  
  
Late evening seeps into the sheet I've curled under and if I close my eyes I can almost hear Duo whispering to me from the shadows. Waiting for me to call him forth again.  
  
Damn, it hurts.  
  
I curl even tighter around the heartache that slowly, methodically consumes me. How had I let this happen? How could I have given myself so completely to an illusion?  
  
There are "Hows" and there are "Whys" but after they've all been poured into the pain, there is even less left of me. There is no sound for this kind of despair. And there is no possibility of escape. No strength left for denial.  
  
It is time to face what remains of my soul.  
  
I crawl out of bed with no real goal in mind. I think I ought to take a shower. I think I ought to eat something. I think I ought to check my messages.  
  
Heh. My messages. And why would I bother? Quatre only calls on Saturdays, Wufei on Mondays, and Trowa on late Thursday nights. I'm sure it's no coincidence that Trowa places his call at that time, offering his quiet support, attempting to warm me to Quatre's inevitable weekend petitions.  
  
Trowa... of the three of them, he alone has never protested my obsession. He alone has respected my decision, my choice, my need. I find myself staring at the vid phone and thinking I might like to talk to him. But not right now. Later. Later, I will call him and wait for him to scrape the fragile, broken shards of my being back together.  
  
I wander into the bathroom and relieve myself. I'm hovering in front of the dented metal sink, contemplating a shower. Contemplating something that will peel even just a little of this ache away...  
  
And that's when I see it.  
  
What forces my gaze to the age-speckled mirror, I do not know. But when my attention is snagged by a mark on my flesh I no longer doubt my sanity. No, now I only doubt the reality around me.  
  
I stare, barely breathing, at the bruised patch of flesh beneath my Adam's apple.  
  
And I know:  
  
It had been real.  
  
_He_ had been real.  
  
I stare at the contents of the apartment and my attention lingers on the rumpled bed linens. I feel surprisingly calm for having just realized that I hadn't imagined his presence. Duo _had_ been here, had touched me, had taken me. And he had been so careful about it that I don't even feel sore.  
  
I feel... _cheated_.  
  
I feel... _angry_.  
  
He'd fucked me, as I'd asked, and then he'd left. Just like that.  
  
He'd left me to the silence and confusion and uncertainty.  
  
Well, not _this_ time.  
  
I run through my routine of the night before. Shower and shave. These simple tasks require an incredible effort on my part to complete. My thoughts keep straying back to him. My emotions keep getting tangled up as their harsh ebb and flow draws my need and my anger into the same churning darkness.  
  
Duo Maxwell, you _will_ come to me tonight and you _will_ listen to what I have to say.  
  
With that thought, I imagine him, here and now. I borrow from my memories of his touch and scent and taste until I feel like my skin is the only thing keeping my emotions from launching into a glowing orbit around this accursed colony.  
  
I am standing _\--_ nude _\--_ in the center of Duo's old apartment with the shirt I had been contemplating wearing for him clenched in my fist when I realize that I am no longer alone. Somehow, I just know.  
  
I can feel the impalpable caress of his gaze on my bare skin from where he stands in my bathroom doorway. I tense even as I feel whole again. I don't hear him cross the room, but after he enjoys a moment of counting the water droplets clinging to the small of my back, he does. I close my eyes as the heat of him radiates against my skin. I remind myself that I am angry with him. And he will understand the full extent of my displeasure before I allow him to disappear again.  
  
"You left," I say tersely.  
  
"Did I?" he replies blandly.  
  
Through teeth that feel fused together, I demand on a growl, "Why?"  
  
He leans closer to me although a small, insulating layer of air still separates us. He inhales along the length of my neck, causing me to shiver. He says, "You weren't ready."  
  
Again with this not being ready business. Fuck that. And, while I'm at it, fuck him, too. In fact... the latter might actually help me get my point across with the least amount of fuss. I give in to my irritation and take control of this conversation. I turn toward him sharply. I study him through narrowed eyes as I crowd his space. He retreats a half-step. I pursue. Again he retraces his path. And again I follow, relenting only when I have managed to back him up against the wall. I brace myself over him with hands flat on either side of his shoulders. The darkness within me rolling and howling, I promise him in a low voice, "I'm ready now."  
  
I do not wait for a reply. I push away from him. I turn. I reach between us and grasp his cock already hard and hot and slick. His breath shudders between my shoulder blades and against the back of my neck as I maneuver him into the cleft of my ass... and take him.  
  
It hurts this time _\--_ burns _\--_ with no prep, but this is what I want. I want to ache, to feel the ghost of his presence inside me for a good twenty-four hours after the fact. Against my ass, the muscles of his pelvis tighten and tremble. I know I've managed to shock him. Surprise him.  
  
I smile.  
  
I lean back against his chest and reach behind me to grasp his hips. For a long moment, I simply enjoy the feel of him. But it's not long before I'm ready for more.  
  
I fuck him. I rock my hips against him while my hands hold him against the wall. My movements are alternately teasing and powerful. He needs to understand that I'm the one in control here. And before I'm finished with him, he _will_.  
  
I ride him as I like for an indeterminate amount of time. I'm loving the ache, the slide, the infinitesimal pause of deep connection but, unsurprisingly, I want more.  
  
"You enjoying the fact that I'm doing all of your work for you?" I demand, pressing back against him with as much force as I dare.  
  
"Mmm," he replies. The sound is neither an agreement nor protest. It is, however, a sound of pleasure, of smug satisfaction.  
  
"You have a lot to make up for," I remind him.  
  
"How's that?" he inquires mildly as his fingertips graze my arms.  
  
I roll my hips. "I didn't tell you you could stop fucking me last night." It's only one of the reasons I'm angry with him and a minor one at that, but accusing him of leaving me to wake up to a cold morning-after will overexpose the almost-frightening depths of my feelings for him.  
  
"You didn't tell me I couldn't," he reminds me.  
  
I momentarily forget about the true motivations behind my present actions. I _had_ wanted to bring them up at some point during his lesson. I'll get to them later. "Well, I'm telling you now," I growl as I slam myself back against him, "that you are going to fuck me until I tell you to stop."  
  
His soft laughter is dangerous and perfect. His whisper is even better: "As you wish."  
  
In the next instant, my feet leave the ground as his hips surge under me. His arms wrap around my chest and pull me back against him. It takes several deep thrusts before I realize _\--_ rather dimly _\--_ that he's arched his back and hips away from the wall. All his weight is on his shoulders which must be getting badly scraped up by the cheap paneling. I cannot imagine the latent strength of him that allows him to fuck me like this. I don't even try. I keep my hands on his hips and let my head fall back as he fulfills my request.  
  
It's good. It's so very good.  
  
But, eventually, I want more.  
  
"Bed," I tell him, wanting this to last, wanting him to vary his strokes, wanting to be played with yet.  
  
I gasp at the ease with which he leans away from the wall and navigates the both of us _\--_ still joined _\--_ to the bed. My hands leave his hips and I brace myself on the mattress. I waste no time in thrusting back against him, flexing my shoulders and pushing with my arms. His hands _\--_ those incredible hands _\--_ settle against my hips and he begins to guide me. What follows is even more incredible than the night before as he explores me with his cock. I feel as if he's mapping me from the inside out. The pleasure builds until I'm screaming his name. I come. I collapse. I don't even try to stop myself; it's either this or die.  
  
  
<reset>  
  
  
Consciousness returns with a rush of heat. I blink, momentarily confused as to why I'm lying on my stomach with my legs spread wide, but then I groan at the feel of a hard, thick shaft delving slowly and deeply into me. That's when it all comes back to me. That's when I know whose hot and humid breath is tickling the nape of my neck.  
  
"Good morning," he whispers, withdrawing at a deliciously slow pace.  
  
I shiver. "Shit," I mutter. "It's..." My voice hitches as he presses back into me. "It's not morning..." I gasp and he slides away again. "...yet, is it?"  
  
He chuckles. "No. It's just after midnight."  
  
"Damn," I purr. I must have been out for a couple of hours. Three at least. Which brings me to my next question... "Why... ahh... why are you still...?" Thankfully, he comprehends my fumbling attempt to ask him why he's still fucking me.  
  
"You asked me not to stop until you told me to," he reminds me in a voice that is pure sin.  
  
"Hm..." I murmur. I like this arrangement. I like it _a lot_. But now I'm curious. "And just... how long...?"  
  
Again, he understands the intent of my fractured question. "I never stopped, Heero."  
  
Oh, fuck.  
  
Oh, damn.  
  
Oh, hell _yes_.  
  
I groan. "That's... _mmm_... not... _ah_... possible..."  
  
He continues with his slow, deep, even thrusts. "Oh, it's very possible," he assures me.

And I just can't resist daring him, "Then show me."  
  
And over the next hour and half, he does just that.  
  
  
<reset>  
  
  
Damn it, I must have passed out again. I surmise this because, when I open my eyes, I'm wrapped in a strong embrace and reclining back against a strong chest. I'm very happy to discover that I'm still impaled on him. I turn my face toward his neck and place a gentle kiss on his skin.  
  
"Morning," I murmur and smile when his soft laughter bounces me against his torso.  
  
"Morning," he replies, leaning down to kiss my shoulder.  
  
I lean back against him completely and sigh with contentment. I consider asking him to continue where we'd left off when I'd passed out on him the second time but I wince when I contract my internal muscles around him experimentally.  
  
"In pain?" he inquires sounding, for all the world, like he's worried about me.  
  
"Yeah," I agree happily. It's a good hurt. A very good hurt. I'm going to be feeling this for way more than twenty-four hours. But I think I got my point across. After all, here I am waking up in his arms.  
  
For a long moment, he simply traces the edge of my ear with the tip of his nose. I take this opportunity to gather my wits and as each layer of understanding comes to me my frown only deepens.  
  
"Duo..." I begin hesitantly.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What's going on here?" I ask. "What...?" My voice trails off before I can finish my thought: //What are you?// Because one thing's for sure: no _normal_ man could manage to do what he'd done to me last night. For the _entire_ night. I'm so engrossed in absorbing the implications of what I've experienced that the sound of his voice almost startles me.  
  
"Did you know that people in ancient times believed that a man could cheat death if he knew the name of the entity _\--_ be it called angel or demon _\--_ sent to collect his soul?"  
  
I blink at the abrupt change of topic but I decide to go with it. With his cock still inside my ass, it's not like Duo's going anywhere. I'll get my answer eventually. I shake my head.  
  
"It's not true," he continues, "not entirely." His palms smooth over my skin in a leisurely glide. "You see, Heero, in order for the name to have any power, it must be freely given."  
  
"Hm," I say, not knowing what other reply would be appropriate.  
  
He presses a kiss into my hair and inhales my scent with single-minded thoroughness. "You fascinated me from the moment I saw you," he admits. "And it frustrated me to no end that I did not know who you were." His arms tighten briefly around me. "And before I knew it, I had indulged in a human custom and offered you my name."  
  
I stiffen at his odd choice of words. //Human custom.//  
  
Duo laughs quietly. "And I offered it to you of my own free will in an effort to learn yours. But you thwarted even that attempt. In fact, you kept your name from me for so long that it became irrevocable."  
  
"What did?" I hear myself ask a little breathlessly.  
  
"If you had given me your name immediately after I'd offered mine, nothing would have happened. But you chose not to. And that's when it began." Duo collects my hands and interlaces our fingers. "Did you feel it? The connection between us growing stronger with every minute that passed?"  
  
I tremble. I _do_ know precisely what he's talking about, but until now I'd believed I'd been the only one to feel it. "If you felt it too," I venture, "then why did it take you three years to come back?"  
  
"Heero," he drawls in my ear, "I never left. I was simply waiting for your call."  
  
"My call," I echo, hardly daring to believe what I'm hearing...  
  
"I gave you my name and you accepted it, but I had to wait for you to be ready before I could come to you."  
  
"I don't understand," I tell him with a frown.  
  
"I have not lied to you, Heero. I _am_ the god of death. And the power I have given you comes with great responsibility. Until a few days ago, you wouldn't have been strong enough to withstand it."  
  
My fingers tighten around his. "Power..." I whisper. Turning, I dare to meet his gaze. I risk drowning in those beautiful eyes as I ask the question he's waiting for me to utter, "What power is that?"  
  
"Power over your own death," he murmurs back. "Over _me_."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting Notes: ::narration:: //memories & thoughts//

::I could not comprehend an existence such as the one he described to me. I could not imagine the loneliness that drove an immortal being to allow himself to knowingly suffer through lifetime after lifetime after lifetime watching the mortals he had grown to care for die. He could not remember anything about his origins. Nor did he anticipate anything from his future aside from the endless march of days. He was a god but he was powerless over his own existence. That was his life... and he abhorred it. He could not seek his own death: he was immortal; he had always existed and would always continue to exist. But for that lonely eternity, he wanted a companion. Someone to measure his existence with. Someone who _\--_ in existing alongside him _\--_ would remind him that he was real. And he chose me.::  
  
  
<resume>  
  
  
The soft, insistent beeping of an incoming call drags me away from my dreamless warmth. I roll over the edge of the bed in a controlled wind-mill motion and take the tangled sheet with me. Only one person could be calling me. And I doubt he would enjoy seeing me in my birthday suit.  
  
I rub at eyes still crusty from a long, deep sleep and try to work up the energy required to crawl into the chair in front of the phone.  
  
Dimly, I realize it must be Thursday. It's Trowa's turn to call me.  
  
Trowa...  
  
I pause at the thought of him, trying to remember something... perhaps something I was going to tell him...  
  
And in a hot, panicky rush, it all comes back to me: waking up alone with only my own scent to greet me, hiding from the sanity that had ruthlessly clawed at my mind, aching for the return of the dream... of Duo...  
  
And in a second wave of adrenaline, I try to remember if I'd felt the heat of another person beside me before I'd forced myself out of bed a moment ago. What will I see if I look over my shoulder right now? Is he still here? Or had it all been another dream? Has sanity come to make me suffer again?  
  
I'm afraid.  
  
My hands are shaking from where they're poised over the phone's keyboard. The beeping is incessant. My fear is intensifying exponentially. Surrounded by this rundown hovel, hounded by the constant trilling of my caller's summons, I can only react. Focusing on nullifying at least one of my torments, I reach forward to connect the call.  
  
Luckily, I'm prevented from following through with it.  
  
I stop. My entire body is completely motionless. I doubt even my heart beats. I stare at the strong fingers wrapped around my wrist, suspending my fingertips over the keyboard.  
  
"Do you need to answer it, Heero?"  
  
I close my eyes. The sound of his voice caresses my bare skin, coaxing the tiny hairs along my arm to stand on end. I exist in the moment of his touch completely until he pulls away and lounges back against the warped mattress.  
  
For another, less pleasant moment, I stare at the vid phone as it continues its annoying summons and wonder why I shouldn't answer it. After all, irritating the holy fuck out of my old friends has been the sadistic highlights of my week for years... But then I think I understand.  
  
My hand drops to my side.  
  
The call goes unanswered.  
  
For the first time in three years, I don't need to answer it. For the first time in three years, I know the caller can't possibly be Duo. For the first time in three years, I realize I don't have to linger here, waiting and hoping for Duo to come to me.  
  
I turn away from the rickety desk and drink in the image of my lover. The arm holding the sheet to my body drops away and the soft whisper of tumbling fabric shudders through the space between us. I don't even notice when the vid phone stops beeping.  
  
I only notice Duo. He of the long, slender, powerful limbs. He of the cascading, silken, straight hair. He is pale and powerful. He is perfect. He is here. And he is mine.  
  
And I want him again.  
  
His eyes sparkle with mischievous anticipation. "Again?" he echoes, his voice warm and soft.  
  
I don't care that my need is written across my face. I don't care that I've given him everything I am and will ever be. I just want to feel him moving in the darkest places of my body... and my soul.  
  
I lean over him until I've trapped him to the mattress that will probably smell like the both of us for years to come. I smile.  
  
"Yeah," I tell him. "Again."  
  
He sighs, a sound that's both loving and reproachful. "You're still sore," he whispers. His fingertips are a phantom touch in my hair.  
  
"Mm," I agree as the fingertips of his other hand trail between my opened thighs and touch me gently. I does hurt, but... "I like it," I confide on an inhalation of breath.  
  
The backs of his fingers slide over my lips as the touch at my entrance intensifies.  
  
And he whispers in reply, "As you wish."  
  
  
<reset>  
  
  
When the vid phone starts beeping every six hours for fifteen minutes straight, I shut it off. My arm seems to be comprised of heavy, limp noodles and the sound it makes as I roll back toward Duo's warmth and let it plop down across his stomach only supports my theory.  
  
With my head once again pillowed on his shoulder, Duo resumes his careful excavation of my scalp. The soft, lingering brushes of his fingertips are soothing. I close my eyes.  
  
"Heero..." he hums.  
  
I grunt softly to indicate that I'm still conscious. I can feel the warmth of his answering smile and find myself displaying a grin of my own.  
  
"They're going to be worried."  
  
I nod. I know this. "Yup."  
  
I can almost hear Duo's grin widen. "They've probably already booked their flights."  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"May even be en route at this precise moment."  
  
"Hm."  
  
He turns his face toward me and rubs his cheek in slow, gentle circles over my hair. "What do you want to tell them?"  
  
I snort. "I suppose the truth is out of the question."  
  
Duo hesitates slightly. "Not... entirely," he admits, albeit very reluctantly.  
  
I sigh as I imagine their reactions to learning Duo is... Never mind.  
  
"Not the truth," I decide.  
  
He is silent, waiting for me to decide on a palatable lie. But I don't want to lie. Not really. I remember that Duo used to pride himself on never being guilty of telling falsehoods. Although I know he'd lie for me if I asked it of him, I don't want to ask him to change such an integral part of the sixteen-year-old kid I fell in love with.  
  
And then it comes to me.  
  
I summon up what is left of my meager supply of energy and lift my head up from his shoulder. I smile for him and lean in for a lazy kiss.  
  
When I pull away to hover over him, he is smiling. "Well, that clears everything up," he declares playfully.  
  
"Doesn't it?" I agree, grinning. I shift away from him and slide out of bed. "I'm going to take a shower and then I'm going to pack," I tell him.  
  
"Ah..." he replies. "So we're running, not lying?"  
  
I chuckle. I'm thrilled that he's leaving it up to me. This little bit of control is steadying and substantial after the years of drifting. And it doesn't hurt that he has no clue as to what I'm planning. "Nope," I tell him.  
  
He rolls his eyes. "Let me guess. Our plans are available on a need-to-know basis and right now I don't need to know?"  
  
I can't resist stealing another kiss. Against his lips, I grin and murmur, "And he's psychic, too. I'm so lucky."  
  
Duo laughs out his surprise. But then he sobers and warms me with his assurance, "We both are."  
  
I'm smiling all the way to the bathroom and I keep smiling for the entire duration of my shower. I reflect on his words and marvel at the truth in them. We are both very lucky to have met each other. And I am very lucky that Duo had thoughtlessly given me the gift of his name... just as Duo is very lucky that I'd grown strong enough to recognize and adapt to our bond. I close my eyes and lean into the shower spray. Whatever happens now, I'm ready for it.  
  
  
<reset>  
  
  
Some things are inevitable. Death comes to mind. Most people hate death. Fear it. I never have and I find it hard to believe that I ever will. But there is something I _do_ hate... something I _do_ fear:  
  
Sanity.  
  
It's back and I can't stop the pain this time. Could I stop it last time? I can't remember. The blurry, dark moments are the pinpricks that bleed my soul between Duo's visitations.  
  
I look around the tiny apartment, taking in the obvious fact that I am alone. Again.  
  
I begin to shiver even though I am not cold. My stomach shrinks and hardens until there's no point in trying to swallow the thick, nauseating juices that fill my mouth. I turn away from the bed I imagine smells like the two of us and our passion. I retreat to the bathroom, to the one place upon which I haven't imagined him leaving his mark.  
  
I can't do this. I can't survive like this. I can't withstand the sudden and irregular reversals of my much-longed-for madness.  
  
I sit down on the closed lid of the toilet, ignore the damp and cooling towel around my waist, and shake.  
  
Deep down I'd known this would happen. It had been in the back of my mind the entire time I'd been with him. I'd _known_ it had to have been nothing more than a dream. I'd _known_ that I would have to wake up again.  
  
No one has yet coined the phrase for the particular species of fool I've become.  
  
And as I sit there, trembling in my threadbare towel, balanced on the toilet seat, that's when it happens: my day gets immeasurably worse.  
  
I jump at the sound but steadfastly ignore it. Ignore them. I have no interest in answering the door, in trying to talk to my friends, in listening to them demean my existence. Yet again, I try to summon up the hostility required to damn Duo for leaving me. And yet again, I fail.  
  
The pounding on the flimsy door continues. If I don't answer it, they'll break in.  
  
I swear. I close my eyes. I breathe deeply. I can do this. After all, I'd known this would happen. Ever since I'd let the vid phone ring that Thursday evening, I'd known. I... just thought I wouldn't end up doing this alone.  
  
I tell myself I shiver because the droplets from my shower are rapidly cooling on my skin. I tell myself I am strong enough to confront them long enough to send them away. I tell myself that if I can just close my eyes in the darkening silence of the apartment, I'll be able to call Duo to me again. I tell myself this moment of sanity is only temporary.  
  
With the front door open, the chilly draft lingering in the hallway easily invades my dwelling. I ignore it and glare at the three young men clustered around my doorway. I forego the pleasantries and, as Quatre takes a moment to study my sallow skin and thinner frame, he disregards his no doubt pre-planned greeting as well.  
  
"Heero..." he murmurs, sounding heartbroken, sounding defeated, sounding like an audible echo of my own dismantled mind.  
  
I can see him sift through his own shock enough to say what he's come all this way to tell me. "Come with us, Heero," Quatre nearly begs from the other side of the threshold. "This waiting is killing you. Let us help."  
  
I pull myself together. I glare. "I don't want your help," I reply sounding defensive. Wufei steps up behind Quatre and pushes firmly on the door. I chafe at the thought of allowing them inside but I know I can't keep them out. And, perversely, I don't want to. I want them to see and smell the rumpled and sex-scented bed. I want them to find the stray strands of Duo's long hair that ought to still be lying so dark and motionless against the pillowcase. I want to prove to them that he is real. And perhaps if they believe it, I'll be able to convince myself that I'm not living in a fantasy world created by my own starved imagination.  
  
"Yuy, this cannot continue."  
  
"I never asked you to care about what happens to me," I tell them.  
  
I watch as Wufei fights against his temper.  
  
Quatre interjects, "But we do. Come with us, Heero. Just walk away."  
  
I almost laugh. Just walk away, huh? And why would I do that now? Why would I leave the only thing capable of consoling me? Why would I _invite_ the sanity that rips me apart with every breath?  
  
Quatre frowns at the sight of my deeply amused, crooked smile. I've confused him with my humor. Wufei is trying not to snap at me for being such a self-centered, delusional nitwit. And Trowa... Trowa still says nothing. He simply watches. And I see something in his eyes that tells me perhaps he's noticed the scent drifting up from the linens and the stray hairs on the pillow. And it fortifies me. Maybe... just _maybe_...  
  
"You don't need this, Heero," Quatre continues and I'm surprised to hear a ghost of desperation in his voice. "You deserve better than this... lingering."  
  
I arc a brow at him. "I don't mind it at all." Especially recently. I briefly touch upon the memories, on the incredible feel of Duo moving deep inside me.  
  
But the warm rush this brings me is shattered by the sudden, hot sheen of tears in Quatre's eyes.  
  
"Damn it, Heero! Stop shutting me out like this!" He actually hits me right in the center of my chest.  
  
I grunt softly in surprise but it doesn't hurt. Not really. But then, he's not finished with me yet.  
  
"Just drop the fucking control for one damn minute!" he shouts. His hands curl around my shoulders and he shakes me. "Let me feel your emotions and I can help you!"  
  
I stare at him, baffled by what he's saying. I can see that the hold he has over his own control is tenuous at best. He's a breath away from exploding. I know that the silence will bring it out, so I say nothing. Perhaps I'm curious. Perhaps I'm cruel.  
  
I wait.  
  
And I am rewarded.  
  
The fight simply disappears from him. "We've lost you," he murmurs quietly, his shoulders slouching. "We've finally lost you... I can't feel you anymore. You're... dead to me."  
  
And that's when I get it. That's when I understand that I am beyond his empathic reach. That's when I realize that I've changed, that Duo has changed me. Somehow, Duo has _changed_ me.  
  
I smile.  
  
"It's okay, Quatre," I tell him softly. "This is what I want."  
  
"But no one wants _\--_ "  
  
"I do," I reply firmly. "I called to him and I will follow him until my soul is worn away to nothing."  
  
Quatre shakes his head, defeated.  
  
Wufei regards me with angry confusion.  
  
Trowa simply... watches.  
  
For a moment, I consider throwing some sort of annoyingly enigmatic remark into the remains of the fray. I shiver as the breeze from the hall whispers against my bare back. At least the towel I'd thrown around my waist _\--_ although not warm _\--_ is better than nothing. In the end, I decide to say, "I'm going now." I pause and, reconsidering my choice of words and what they imply, amend, " _We're_ going now."  
  
Frowning, Wufei opens his mouth to no doubt ask what I'd meant by "we" but he is rather smoothly interrupted.  
  
"Is that so?" a quiet voice purrs just over my shoulder. I feel the warmth of him against my back and discover myself releasing a long breath as well as the last dregs of my fear and tension. I had resigned myself to the possibility that I might have been imagining Duo after all. But he's here. He's real. And he's mine. The words to describe the intensity of my relief have not yet been invented. I lean back against Duo's chest and feel one of his arms encircle me.  
  
"And just where did you think you were going without any clean clothes?"  
  
I blink as he holds out my duffel bag, packed with neatly folded clothing still warm from one of the driers in the laundromat three blocks away. I make a mental note to have a discussion with him about the dangers of disappearing without telling me first. My borderline psychosis doesn't need the encouragement, thank you very much.  
  
Storing all of that, I retort, "Not very far, obviously."  
  
He chuckles.  
  
When I return my attention to the others, I note Quatre's complete lack of expression. After an awkward moment _\--_ during which I wrestle with my burning desire to say "I told you so" _\--_ Quatre says, "Duo. It's good to see you again."  
  
"It's been a while," he agrees blandly.  
  
"What... brings you here?"  
  
Duo tightens his arm around me and nuzzles my ear. He tells Quatre succinctly, "Heero."  
  
I love his way with words.  
  
Wufei's look of wary puzzlement melts into something more confrontational. "I find it hard to believe it took you _three years_ to find your way back to your own apartment."  
  
Poor Wufei. He's probably thinking of all the Sundays he's spent placating Quatre. Every Sunday for three years... wasted.  
  
I have to bite back a grin. "He came as soon as he could," I reply for him and am rewarded for my creative truth-telling with a soft kiss on my temple. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I need to get dressed. We have a flight to catch."  
  
"Where are you going?" Wufei demands. The question is also mirrored in Quatre's eyes. I don't have to look over my shoulder to know Duo is wondering the same thing.  
  
I finally allow the smile to come through. Lifting my hand to Duo's and interlacing our fingers, I hold his embrace around me and say, "Back to the beginning. We have a lot of catching up to do."  
  
  
<restart>  
  
  
The beach still doesn't look exactly the same as it had that day he'd touched me, but with his presence beside me, it's a closer resemblance. The sunlight still sparkles with mesmerizing enthusiasm on the sighing surface of the water. The sand has even somehow managed to sift into my shoes. I lean my shoulder against Duo and relish the feel of his hand entwined with my own.  
  
I tell him, "I died here, you know."  
  
He glances toward me, curious.  
  
I smile and continue, "When you approached me, everything I had experienced before that moment became obsolete. With the sound of your voice promising me friendship, I died... and then you touched me... and breathed life back into me."  
  
For a long moment, Duo is silent. It feels a little strange to be standing with him here like this. I remember his energy, his wit, his indomitable spirit, not this timeless patience. I feel a surge of anticipation: there is so much of him I have yet to discover.  
  
Finally, he observes, "I hadn't told you my name then."  
  
I agree with a quiet smile. "No, you hadn't... but I was already yours."  
  
After another long moment, Duo leans in and breathes against my ear, "Thank you, Heero, for consenting to be my freedom."  
  
I squeeze his hand at that, acknowledging the truth therein. The moment I had grown strong enough _\--_ or perhaps desperate enough _\--_ to accept the ownership he had offered me over him, I had become his escape from the monotonous anguish of eternity. And for as long as I am willing to bear this bond between us, I will remain beside him, unchanging and immortal. There is little else beyond that to be known about what we have done; he has no knowledge of this _\--_ of a god giving himself to a human _\--_ having ever been done before.  
  
There is no escaping eternity. There is no hiding from forever. While the rest of the world lives on, Duo and I will remain locked away in our bond, each depending on the other completely. Just as Duo is the only thing in this world that is real for me, I am the only thing that is real for him. I understand this as I had understood that I could not deny my essential need for him. And now I am voluntarily trapped in timelessness with him. And all for the sake of freedom.  
  
Freedom.  
  
Two mere syllables of sound: The first is open-ended. If you had the breath, you could shout it out once and have it go on forever. The second half is finite. Final. Combined, they are an escape and a promise. A plea and a decision. A celebration and a capture. That Duo had chosen me for this, I will be forever awed.  
  
Even now, as we face both the uncertain consequences of our actions and the certain doom of an ever-enduring existence, I have no regrets. I have him. And with him I have everything that has ever meant anything in my life. Some people search their entire lives for that one thing which defines their existence. Most die without ever having glimpsed it... without ever having held it in their hands.  
  
I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath. I find myself not savoring the scent of the sea, but the scent of my mate. He is all-encompassing. Overwhelming. He defines me as nothing else in the universe has. As nothing else can. For me, he is... the absolute essence of life.  
  
I smile and decide that when I open my eyes I should tell him that.  
  
  
<infinity>  
  
++  
  
end  
  
++  
  
_LYRICS: "The Tower" by JADE REDD from the album: Rivers of Stone_  
  
No escaping... no denying...  
No escaping... no denying...  
  
She's the voice of the woman every man wishes for  
Keeps her locked in the tower holds the key to her door  
  
She's the face in the darkness every man's waiting for  
Silhouette in the moonlight virgin wanting more  
  
No escaping, no denying  
There's no exit only entrance to the tower  
Is his own imagination  
Where she opens to his passion  
Through the door that has no exit  
Only entry  
  
She's the keeper of the secret every man's yearning for  
Hiding silent in the tower kneeling down at his door  
She's the voice of the woman every man wishes for  
  
No escaping, no denying  
There's no exit from the tower  
Only entry to the tower  
Is his own imagination  
Where she opens to his passion  
Through the door that has no exit  
Only entry  
  
No escaping, no denying  
There's no exit from the tower  
Only entrance to the tower  
Is his own imagination  
Where she opens to his passion  
Through the door that has no exit  
Only entrance to the tower  
Is his own imagination  
Where she opens to his passion  
Through the door that has no exit  
Only entry  
  
No escaping... no denying...  
No escaping...


End file.
